The Things They Teach
by AmputeeTrainee
Summary: Russia contemplates one of the many lessons this late Tzar instilled in him. Odd that such a simple act of such as shaving remains so strong, even centuries later. De-anon from Kink Meme. Human names used.


In 1705 Peter the Great implemented a "decree on the shaving of beards" as one of the steps to Westernize Russia.

The Things They Teach

Peter had hated beards.

Ivan remembered that about his past ruler. Well, there were many things about the Tsar he remembered. Things that had been ingrained into his memory, etched into his history so deeply that they had become a part of him.

He could feel more than see the ashy stubble as he rubbed his face. Sleepy eyes stared back at him in the mirror. Ivan imagined he would look older if he allowed the hair to grow out for once. It would hide the youth his face had never quite lost.

Slowly, sleep still tugging at his limbs, Ivan filled the sink with warm water. When it was high enough he turned off the tap and dipped a washcloth into the steaming basin. The water was too hot, his pale hands turned red. It didn't matter. Ivan never shied away from warmth and held the damp cloth to his face wetting the skin.

Long ago he had watched with envy as young peasant boys and the sons of Boyars grew their first whiskers. They had proudly let the hair grow, a sign of maturity. Boys became men in the blink of an eye. Soon they had sons of their own and Ivan watched them all grow up one right after the next. Countries mature so slowly though. Generations pasted before Ivan had even managed to grow taller than his sister, taller than Poland, taller than Lithuania, taller than Mongolia. It had taken centuries.

Skin now warm and wet he smoothed saving cream along his jaw line, carefully covering the fair stubble with creamy white. It looked silly he thought, all that fluffy white. Like clouds.

Peter had hated beards because they were old fashioned. For being so young Ivan was shocked to learn that he was apparently behind the rest of the world. For the first time Ivan become truly aware of the Western World outside of bloodshed. It hadn't mattered before really. So long as they left him alone, so long as relations were good. But he was older and stronger now. His people demanded more from him.

Peter liked Western things, all the new clothes, new styles, new weapons. And these new things would make Ivan appeal to the Western powers. They would make him stronger, more cultured.

He dragged the razor down the right side of his face close to his ear. Pale, clean skin was left behind with each new stroke. Bit by bit the white was scrapped off and washed away down in the sink.

He remembered the day Peter had grabbed his chin, craning his neck up so he could look at him. The Tsar had always been so much taller. Even after centuries of growing Ivan had just reached adolescence. He had smiled sheepishly under the Tsar's critical gaze, having noticed the few pale hairs dotting his chin days ago.

"Come with me." Was all Peter had said and lead him away.

He considered himself lucky as Peter watched over his shoulder, teaching him how to properly hold the straight razor, that his Tsar had been kind. Although it sounds silly now, Peter had been very serious about the tax he decreed on beards. Something devised to whittle away at the traditions the Tsar considered passé. Ivan had seen Peter personally remove the beards of a few Boyars and men around the palace by the root for their disobedience.

Years upon years of practice had made the act of shaving effortless. Something he did some mornings without thought. He gently pulled at the scarred skin of his neck and raised his chin, shaving what stubble remained under his jawline, vigilant not to nick the tender flesh.

Contorting his lips, the hair under his nose and chin was soon sheared away. Peter had allowed mustaches, he found them sophisticated. Ivan couldn't image himself with one; he doubted it would suit his childish face. Besides looking youthful had become part of a nation's job over time.

The washcloth had cooled by the time he wiped his skin clean. He stared at the same face he had seen for centuries. He was clean shaven, youthful, perpetually a young man.

As he rubbed aftershave onto his skin he absently wondered again how he would look if he actually let the hair grow. He would probably look not unlike those peasant boys all those centuries ago, not that it mattered now. Still, Peter had hated beards and Ivan found that even after all this time he couldn't bring himself to like them anymore either.

He smiled at himself in the mirror. How silly, he thought, the things humans teach us.


End file.
